Traitor, or the Forsworn Executions
by Dacre the Nirnwalker
Summary: A Nord caravaan is attacked and seised by Forsworn raiders. A Reachman is discovered among to prisoners and offered the chance to save his life and fight for his people.


Traitor

or

The Forsworn Executions

A man with the heavy face of a true Nord kneels with his hands bound tightly behind his back- The Reachmen who captured his are taking no chances.

"I die for Skyrim, and for all Nords!" he says as a man clothed in animal furs raises the jagged sword above his head.

"Wait now," says the leader of the band of insurgents who captured the nord's caravan. "The man has spoken against us and I believe it is only fair that I am given the opportunity for rebuttal."

The nord at his feet spits in defiance but the rebel continues hissing his rhetoric, "You say you want Skyrim for the Nords. Fine! I say you have it! Let Skyrim be your home, let you go there to quench your thirst for blood but I bid you, get out of the Reach!"

"The Reach belongs to Skyrim!"

"And Skyrim belongs to the Empire," chuckles the insurgent.

He signals with his hand for the execution to begin without revealing any emotion other than smug self satisfaction. He smiles down on the spilt skull and running blood of his enemy.

"Forgive me," he calls to his band, raising his arms theatrically in the air, attempting to give the best show. "But I too have a thirst for blood that will not be quenched until every nord in the Reach is either dead," he eyes the next prisoner "or will be soon."

His eyes gaze down the line of prisoners, counting them off until he sees a man with similar markings on his face to his own. A Reachman!

"And what about you brother?" He says. He signals for the man's bindings to be undone. "How did you manage to get yourself caught up with this caravan of invader filth?"

The young man did not answer. _Perhaps he does not have the fortitude for this kind of thing. He was with the nord caravan after all. But I will make a killer out of him yet. I always make killers out of them._

"Please, stand up. There is no need for you to kneel like a nord dog in the mud."

The boy arose, with tears and hatred in his eyes. He began to speak, mumbling at first but gathering more strength as the emotion poured out. "That man you killed. He was my friend. You murdered my friend! Have you any idea what a friend is?"

"I have no friends, only brothers, sisters," he pauses, "and enemies." His face turns to a scowl and his voice to a serpentine hiss as he speaks the last word.

The prisoner swallowed a lump in his throat and again raised his eyes to his captor and spoke, "Well then, you better count me among the latter."

"And the rest of us you Whore-born scoundrel!" cried the woman who was next to be executed. A swift motion and a knife to her stomach ended her protestations.

"It's forsworn. You would all do well to remember that for these last few moments of your lives. I might not be so forgiving with the next dog who whines too much." The leader said, wiping his dagger.

"But you," he said turning to the Reachman. "Do not need to die. You can still fight for your people. All you need to do is kill one of these oppressors. I don't care which, any of them. They are all your enemy. Kill them all if you like, I will anyways." He threw the prisoner the knife who caught it and held it with obvious distaste.

"It seems to me," he said at last, "that the only enemy I have here is you."

Bows were drawn by forsworn all around but he did not stagger. He stood in defiance with the knife at his side, aimed at no-one but the gentle earth beneath him.

The forsworn leader signaled for his men to be at ease. He had a plan.

"Fine then! Slay me! Kill your enemy. Spill his blood and revel in it."

"That may be your way but it is not mine."

"But it will be! Slay me and I promise you will walk away from here unscathed. Leave these dogs to their fate and make your own destiny. Write your story in the blood of your enemies, beginning with mine," said the forsworn. He spread his arms wide open and bowed his head but was unable to conceal the joy he found in this dialogue.

"You know, I was wrong, you are not my enemy."

"Of course, we are brothers."

"What I mean is that you are a man, and no man is my enemy."

"You wish to fight the elves?"

"No, my enemy is something far more dark and dangerous than even the elves, and today I make my stand against my enemy."

He threw the knife on the ground and closed his eyes. What he dreamt of, I do not know, but I can only imagine they were some of the most sublime thoughts a man ever had.

The forsworn's smirk was replaced by disappointment. "So be it," he said. He raised his arm in the air and watched the arrows pierce the earthly body of a traitor to his people.


End file.
